


Screwtape's Nephew

by Eigon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Screwtape Letters - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eigon/pseuds/Eigon
Summary: Crowley is summoned to Hell.  He's in trouble, but it's not what he expects.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Screwtape's Nephew

"This isn't the way to Duke Hastur's office," Crowley remarked casually to the minor demon who had met him at the entrance to Hell. "Who did you say had summoned me again?"  
The minor demon grinned nastily. "I didn't say, Master Crowley. But you're in big trouble with someone."  
Crowley's skin may have gone a shade paler than normal. He hoped no-one would notice in the dim lighting of Hell's basement office complex. His eyes flicked from side to side nervously behind his sunglasses. There was no escape, of course – he was too deep into Hell for that. All he saw was a poster saying "Do Not Lick the Walls".  
Not a lot of help, that.  
He'd thought he'd been so careful – but he'd also thought he could rely on quick wits and fast talking if anyone did find out about.... Best not to even think of it Down Here. His little secret (not so little – "If Hell found out, they wouldn't just be angry. They'd destroy you.") - the most important secret he'd ever had – could they have discovered it?  
The minor demon, smirking in a most unpleasant way, knocked at one of the doors along the grim corridor. A voice within said: "Come."  
Crowley stepped through the door.  
The demon sitting behind the desk did not look up from the document he was writing.   
Over the centuries, humans had fixed upon a certain image of what demons and devils looked like, and had used that image in countless works of art. This demon looked as if he had just stepped down from a Medieval Doom painting on a church wall – horns, forked tail, the works. He even had a pitchfork propped up in the umbrella stand in one corner of the office.  
At length (just enough time to make Crowley feel even more nervous) the demon looked up, and put the document to one side. "Crowley," he said.  
Crowley managed a smile. "And you are...?"  
"Screwtape," the demon said.   
Crowley looked blank.  
"My nephew may have mentioned me," he went on.  
"Sorry – who?" Crowley murmured.  
"My nephew Wormwood." Screwtape glared at Crowley.  
"Wha- Oh! Wormwood! Bright young lad – he'll go far. He never mentioned he had an uncle."  
"I write to him regularly," Screwtape said. On the surface, he seemed calm, but there was an undercurrent of pure fury in his tone. "He's been demoted, and it's your fault. What did you say to him, Crowley?"  
"My fault?" Crowley practically radiated injured innocence. "I just bumped into him in Oxford, had a little chat.... I may have suggested a couple of things for him to try...."  
Screwtape broke the pencil he had been fiddling with in two. "While my nephew was trying out one of your 'suggestions' – that is to say, neglecting his duty! - do you know what happened? Do you?"  
Crowley tried to maintain his expression of innocence, combined with a smattering of ignorance.  
"His Patient managed to write the book that Wormwood was supposed to be preventing from happening! A book, I might add, that has been highly praised by the Other Side! He was supposed to be encouraging indolence, 'writers block', anything that would prevent the Patient from actually getting his thoughts onto paper, and while Wormwood was distracted by your cretinous 'suggestions', the Patient not only finished the book, but sent it to a publisher! And now he has a bestseller which is turning humans' thoughts away from sin!"  
"Ah. Right. I can see why you're annoyed." Crowley shrugged helplessly. "It could have happened to anyone," he began.  
"It happened to MY NEPHEW! Who has been demoted!" Small puffs of smoke were now coming out of Screwtape's nostrils.  
Crowley sighed. "Well, yeah, but look – he got sent to Oxford. Lots of brilliant human minds in Oxford. It's a tough assignment for a junior demon at the best of times, and he didn't have a lot of experience, did he? I bet that's why you were writing to him, giving him advice."  
"Of course that's why I was writing to him!" Screwtape growled.  
"I've seen a lot of this over the centuries," Crowley said. "Bright young demon bites off a bit more than he can chew, even with his old uncle helping him out. Gets sent down to the flaming pits to spend a couple of centuries prodding sinners with pitchforks and then, an older and a wiser demon, he'll get another chance at tempting a human. He'll be fine."  
"So you take no responsibility for this disaster at all?" Screwtape said.  
"I think you'll find that you can't pin anything on me," Crowley said. "I mean, I wasn't even there. How was I to know he didn't have the experience to do the job right?"  
Screwtape had gone a strange shade of purple. Crowley backed away from the desk. "Right. So. Now that's all cleared up, I'll see myself out."  
Crowley took care to saunter as if he hadn't a care in the world where other demons could see him, but he still set a personal best time for getting back to the entrance to Hell and up to Earth again.  
He waited for Hell to contact him again, for the formal complaint in triplicate and signed in blood to be delivered to him – but it never came.


End file.
